


Shadows - Part II

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [20]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty Jedi Shadows think they know what to expect from their new instructor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows - Part II

**Author's Note:**

> Dear AO3 editor types: WHY DID YOU BREAK THE UPLOAD INTERFACE??? 
> 
> Note the second: Beta beta beta credit! MerryAmelie, C, & writestufflee.

 

It didn’t take him long to discern his competition’s new whereabouts. The Jedi were being covert about Kenobi and the facility full of baby Shadows, but their actual network security was abysmal when faced with a Sith’s talents.

Long-range sensors were prolific around Entrios, so taking in his own ship was out of the question, not if he was going to continue to follow his Master’s orders. Instead, Talon waited on the Chirrissi Waystation for the next Temple-sent transport to arrive.

Sneaking aboard was laughably easy, once he’d hidden himself within the Force. There was only one of the baby Shadows to share the hold with—a human, to Talon’s good fortune. At least one furry species was inbound, and hiding his scent was a bit more difficult than hiding his form.

When faced with the planet in question, Talon almost balked, Sidious and his threats be _damned_. He had not bargained on a perpetual blizzard!

 _No help for it,_ Talon thought in bitter resignation. He’d made his decision, and there was information he needed, beyond the tidbits that Sidious doled out like the occasional sugary treat.

It was a bright spot of malicious humor to notice that the baby Shadow was giving the snow-swept landscape the same look of extreme displeasure. Talon decided to follow the blind fool, and walked along neatly behind, stepping into the broken trail that the Shadow made. He needed to know how to access the facility, regardless.

Perhaps he could try his hand at blatant theft, too. There was bound to be decent cold-weather gear somewhere inside.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Republic Date 5201: 2/28th

The Cathedral, Entrios

 

Entrios was remote, covered in snow, and colder than a wampa’s ass. Siri Tachi did _not_ approve.

“Man, what a shithole,” Colm Fieff said, looking around doubtfully. He was a brown-eyed ginger kid with so many freckles that it was impossible to tell his original skin color. Their other short companion was robed, hooded, and from the quaking that Siri could see, freezing.

“C’mon,” Siri suggested, leading the way towards the cliff face as their transport took off. “It has to be at least somewhat temperate on the inside.”

“Force, I hope so,” the short Shadow said, and gamely hopped along in Fieff’s boot tracks. Siri was starting to think the cloaked Shadow was avian, or maybe a Bimm. They were short little hopping things, too.

According to Siri’s briefing, there were two switches hidden on the outside. One would lift an entire section of the wall, and was supposed to be damned impressive; the other opened a much smaller access door that would accommodate all three of them.

“Aw, I wanted to open the big door,” Fieff said in a mock-sad voice.

“It’s a very large fake rock wall that goes up,” Siri retorted, stepping through the hatch the moment it gave. “If you’d rather stand out here in the snow…”

“Noted,” the Knight said, cheerful. “After you, short-stuff.”

The other Shadow didn’t reply, but Fieff wound up squawking as a load of snow suddenly fell on his head. Siri decided she was going to like Short and Quiet.

Vos was waiting for them inside, and gave Siri a dramatic, sweeping, idiotic bow when he saw her. “Welcome to the Cathedral, Tachi,” he said. “Fieff, Herssella.”

Fieff was still dumping snow out of his robe’s hood. “Hey, Vos,” he returned the greeting. “Didn’t think you’d be on the list.”

“Why’s that?” Vos asked, while Siri took in their immediate surroundings. The name made a lot more sense once you saw the inside of the Cathedral. It was massive—plenty of room for acrobatic flying. There was another group of Shadows who were already taking advantage of the space, chasing each other around with their lightsabers. Siri noted a pink-skinned, pink-haired Zeltron, a human with dark eyes and hair set against pale skin, and a yellow-scaled Trandoshan female who was doing her level best to squash them both.

“Well, you’re kinda young compared to the rest of us,” Fieff was saying, and Siri decided it was definitely time to rejoin the conversation.

“Vos is older than I am,” she told Fieff.

“What?” Fieff’s eyes were comically wide. “But you’re…” He made motions towards his chest, an over-the-hill gesture that didn’t earn him any points at all. Her breasts weren’t that big.

“How old are you?” Siri asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Thirty-five Standard,” Fieff said, to her shock. She’d guessed twenty-three, at most. “You?”

“Twenty,” Siri replied, and grinned at Fieff’s floored expression.

“You’re just a baby!” Fieff sputtered. “You’re probably still a Padawan!”

“I,” Siri retorted coolly, “am a Knight-Elect, Padawan to Master Adi Gallia, and fully capable of handing you your ass in less than five seconds on a training mat.”

“She can do it, too,” Vos put in, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I don’t train with her anymore. Got tired of losing.”

“It sounds as if you need a challenge,” Short and Quiet said in a musing voice, drawing back her hood. Siri cheered herself for guessing correctly on the avian front, taking in S & Q’s talons, gray and brown feathers, and owl-like green eyes.

“Holy shit,” Fieff said. “You’re a Rishi.”

S & Q blinked and snapped her beak. “Ri- _shii_ ,” she corrected Fieff. Her voice had a faint warble that sounded like a suppressed accent. “Stress the second syllable, please.”

“Nice to see you again, Herssella,” Vos said. “How’s the hunting been?”

“Intolerable,” Herssella said. Siri made a fierce note to remember her name, because S & Q had already become Siri’s dominant form of identification for the Rishii. “I hope the hunting improves once our time here is complete.”

“Okay, you can get off of him now, Skaalka! No! Do not break him in half!”

Siri turned back to the three duelers, whose bout had concluded with tall, dark, and pale’s summary defeat, pinned under the foot of the Trandoshan. The Zeltron was trying in vain to displace her.

“He yield, first!” Skaalka hissed, eyes narrowed. “Not done until he say so!”

“Fuck, if it’ll get you the hell off of me, I yield! I concede! Get off!” Dark and Pale roared.

Skaalka made a disappointed sound. “Give up too easily,” she said, but removed her foot.

Dravaco rolled over and hopped up. “You weigh enough to count as a small transport, Skaalka. I would like my ribs intact for our upcoming training.”

“Guys! Come here, time for introductions,” Vos shouted. The other three obligingly walked over, with the Zeltron cooing up at Dravaco in such a way that Siri could practically smell their future sexcapades.

 _Master Adi, that is what_ actual _Zeltron-fawning looks like,_ Siri thought with smile.

“This is Master Yuri Dravaco,” Vos said, and Dravaco inclined his head in that perfect five-centimeter dip that all the Masters seemed to nail upon confirmation.

“Greetings to you all,” Dravaco said, and then looked at Siri. “Another youngling? Your presence is bad enough, Vos.”

Siri glowered up at Dravaco, who was easily a third of a meter taller than she was. “If you call me a baby, like Fieff did, I’ll remove your testicles and stuff them in your ears.”

“This is Siri Tachi, Yuri,” Vos introduced her, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Ah. I’ve heard of you,” Dravaco said, amused. “I wouldn’t call the Padawan who blew up Cestus Cybernetics an infant, never fear. You saved us all a lot of trouble with that field decision.”

“It’s Knight-Elect, now,” Siri decided to clarify. Again.

“Congratulations,” Dravaco murmured, echoed by some of the others. It wasn’t the same thing as being declared a Jedi Knight, but it was usually considered as good as, and Siri had _earned_ that distinction, dammit.

“My companion is Master Skaalka,” Dravaco introduced the Trandoshan. “She is a cheat, and punches like an accelerating starfighter, but otherwise she is tolerable.”

“Not mind him,” Skaalka said with a toothy grin. “He is asshole.”

“I’m Knight Jaime Grierseer,” the Zeltron said, giving them all a bright smile. “I am also, apparently, their referee.”

“How do you referee for a Trandoshan?” Fieff asked.

Grierseer glanced up at Skaalka. “I am considering an electrical prod,” she admitted, and Skaalka laughed.

“Colm Fieff, Jedi Knight, at your service,” Fieff introduced himself, though Siri couldn’t help but notice that most of his focus was on Grierseer. “They keep trying to convince me to take a student and become a dignified Master of the Order, but so far, no luck.”

“You could be old, gray, and bent with age, and I don’t think you’d manage to be dignified,” Vos said dryly.

“Probably not,” Fieff said, shaking off his lust-face for the Zeltron and turning to S & Q with a grin. “Your turn.”

“I am Knight Herssella Grinn,” Herssella said, with a patient look at Fieff. “I give you my family name, but ask you not to use it unless you must. These lessons that we are about to embark upon are meant to be a test to determine my own Mastery.”

Grierseer gave Siri a measuring look, one that completely blew away her air of dippy Zeltron. “That means these are your Trials for Knighthood, yes?”

Siri nodded. “The second part, anyway.”

“Second?” Fieff whistled. “Then you’re halfway there.”

“What was the first part?” Dravaco asked.

“Hard,” Siri said in a curt voice. The other Shadows all gazed at her in varying degrees of commiseration and understanding, which made her feel guilty. MonMassa had warned Siri that she was going to be a bit ahead of the class, at least at first, but lording it over the other Shadows didn’t feel like the best idea.

Vos and Dravaco were the self-elected spokesmen for the group, Siri realized, as they each took turns pointing out various features of the Cathedral. With Vos it felt natural; he’d arrived with the Cathedral’s staff and thus had several days to familiarize himself with the layout. Dravaco acted like he should direct their attention because he was _supposed_ to, not necessarily because he wanted to.

Fieff jumped back out of the kitchen when a steam-enshrouded droid chattered at him for trespassing. “Are you the most senior of us?”

Dravaco shook his head. “Master Ni-Dia Kurri is the most senior of us, but she retired for the evening already.”

“I don’t think I recognize the name,” Fieff said, frowning.

“Cerean woman, silver hair, eye patch from picking a fight with a bloodthirsty Falleen?” Vos rattled off the list of features. Fieff still looked lost, but Siri remembered her. Master Ni-Dia looked like a harmless elder Cerean woman with a staff, and was badass enough that even Master Micah whimpered at the prospect of sparring with her.

They met Knights Firrido kel Ta and Vaki Uru in the commissary at the end of the central corridor. Firrido was a younger cousin of famous Orna kel Ta; Siri hoped he was as awesome as the dead Rodian Master was rumored to have been. Vaki Uru was a Quarren with a greenish-purple birthmark streaking his domed head, making him look perpetually bruised, but he greeted them politely and immediately offered to share his dinner.

Siri eyed the still-wiggling eel on his tray and shook her head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I prefer my food to be dead, first.”

Uru gave the eel a considering look. “It is mostly dead,” he said.

“Completely dead,” Siri specified, smiling. She wasn’t good at reading Quarren, but she was pretty sure that Uru was teasing her.

“Yeah, why is the commissary so far away from the kitchen, anyway?” Fieff asked, sitting down and snagging a crisp yellow root from Firrido’s tray.

Firrido looked insulted. “Just because Vaki offered you his food did not also mean that mine was fair game,” he said, swiping the root back from Fieff.

Fieff shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

“The other commissary was decommissioned,” Vos explained, after he and Dravaco took a moment to point out where trays, dining ware, drink dispensers, and the all-important caff were lurking. “Damned unpleasant room. You guys know that the Cathedral used to belong to blood worshippers, right?” When everyone nodded, he said, “They painted the room to match their cannibalistic tastes. Blood red, top to bottom. Tabletops were the color of liver, seats the color of intestines...”

Skaalka looked confused. “Not understanding problem. Those food colors.”

“They did most of their bad shit in that room,” Vos said, and then bent over his caff. “Lots of negative juju in there, friends.”

“I still don’t believe that such a room exists,” Dravaco said with a raised eyebrow. “None of us have seen it except for you.”

“The Healers saw it, as did MonMassa. Not my fault that our instructor hid it,” Vos returned with a shrug. He noticed Siri eyeballing him, and waved two fingers at her. She nodded once; message received, ask later.

Their flight must have arrived just before the dinner rush. By the time Siri decided to get up and fill a tray, the commissary was crowded with Shadows. She counted the full thirty, which meant that the show would likely start tomorrow.

Problem was, the two people she most wanted to see were not putting in an appearance. Siri reflected on the matter, said good night to her new companions, and took a second tray off to medical.

Su’um-Va was there, staring down at a datapad with his sexy studious glower. Not that he thought it was sexy, but Siri did like it when her lover had that all-business look going.

She coughed pointedly when he didn’t look up. Su’um-Va turned his head, and the studious glower turned into a warm, welcoming smile. “There you are. I was wondering if you’d forgotten all about me,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” Siri nodded at the datapad as she set the tray down on the nearest available surface. “More like someone got swept up in research and forgot to eat again.”

“Well, yes. That, too,” Su’um-Va admitted, and then grinned. “Come and greet me properly, dearheart.”

Siri greeted him properly, complete with kiss, ass-grope, and a hand down his elastic-banded trousers. He gasped into her mouth, shock becoming a groan in short order.

“We don’t have time—” he tried to protest.

Siri shook her head, steered him into a corner of the medical suite, and tightened her grip. “Plenty of time,” she whispered, varying the clench of her hand as she stroked him up and down.

“Siri!” Su’um-Va’s head fell back against the wall. Siri took complete advantage and began licking the column of his throat, feeling his cock leap in her hand. The sounds he was making, the feel of him, both were serving to make her blood sing. Her clit was a hot spot, a fierce and lovely pounding in time with her heartbeat.

Su’um-Va broke into a sweat, the smell of arousal flooding her senses. “You’re close,” Siri murmured against his skin, feeling the echo of his desperation like an additional tightness within herself. “Damn, I should have fucked you first.”

Su’um-Va sputtered a laugh, one that turned into another long, eloquent moan as she sped up her strokes. “I’ll save it for next time, Suva,” Siri promised. “You just need to think about how I’m going to sit down in your lap, naked, and ride you so damn hard—”

She could tell Su’um-Va was overworked by how fast she got him off. He came with a bitten-off wail, thrusting into her hand as she tickled the most sensitive part of his glans.

“Wow, baby,” Siri murmured, snagging a white towel from the closest supply bin to clean him up. “You have got to take some time out of your day to masturbate.”

He pressed his lips against her forehead. “I never doubt that you have your priorities properly in order.”

“That’s because I’m self-aware enough to be sensible. Most people are telling you to chill and go meditate, not lock yourself into a closet and jerk off,” Siri told him, and smiled up at him until he kissed her.

“Shall I return the favor?” he asked, the words a lovely bit of breath against her cheek.

Siri had to bite back an immediate affirmative. “I’m technically on duty, and if you touch me right now…” She shuddered in place. “We wouldn’t be doing anything else for several hours.”

“There will be a rest day at the end of the ten-day,” Su’um-Va told her, a promise to his words that left no doubt as to what he’d like to spend said day doing. There was no ten-day rest mentioned in her brief, but then, Suva and his sister were the resident Mind Healers. Siri figured their word was law when it came down to making sure nobody had a mental breakdown of moving parts.

Siri left before Ra’um-Ve could arrive and corner her. She didn’t think that Suva’s sister disapproved of her, per se, but she was in no hurry for their eventual confrontation.

Siri walked the length of the Left Strip, looking for quarters to call her own for the duration. Many of the doors already had names attached, written on temporary ’plast cards. She noted Dravaco, Grierseer, and Fieff’s names and made sure to choose a berth way the hell away from their quarters. Sexy shenanigans were all well and good, but at the end of a long, exhausting day, Siri didn’t want to hear those noises unless she was helping to make them.

She had no sooner stepped inside—single blue room with tiny but decent ’fresher, permanent wall-bunk, wall-mounted storage—when Vos rapped on the doorframe. Siri turned around to greet him, catching her pack when he tossed it at her.

“Thought you might appreciate not having to double back to the Cathedral,” Vos explained.

“Thoughtful of you,” Siri said, dropping the pack on the bunk. “Have you seen Obi-Wan?”

Vos grimaced. “Yeah, I’ve seen him. Up close and personal, as a matter of fact.”

Siri frowned. “I got that impression earlier. What happened? Because you look like you just took a bite of a shit sandwich, Vos.”

Vos blinked at her. “Oh, fuck. You don’t know. They didn’t tell you.” His eyes widened. “Fuck, they didn’t tell _any_ of you, did they?”

“Tell us _what_ , Vos?”

Vos held up his hands. “No way. If none of you were told, then that means I’m not supposed to give the game away. You’ll find out tomorrow. Nite, Tachi,” he said, and ducked out of her quarters.

Siri stared after him. “What the actual fuck,” she grumbled, and sealed the door behind him. No sense inviting in any other random crazy Shadows.

She slept rough that night. The bed wasn’t bad, but her nerves were twisty bastards. Siri got out of bed at dawn, meditated to clear the fog of poor sleep from her head, and went to the commissary.

Siri met a new group of Shadows there, first and foremost among them Knights Gaffi Gyre and Svelta Owari. Gyre was a Sullustan with the exotic white and black twists of a clan tattoo covering his bare head. Owari was a Mrlssi with brilliant violet plumage and a gold feather crown. She was almost an eyesore compared to Herssella’s more neutral brown and gray feathers.

It was pre-caff, so Siri largely excused herself the foot-in-mouth moment when she said, “Man, there are an awful lot of short Shadows here.”

Gyre’s black eyes widened comically, but Owari started laughing, like Siri had told the best joke. “Short beings are often overlooked,” the Mrlssi said in a scratchy voice.

“I am short and see perfectly in the dark,” Gyre put in. “Good for exploring crannies where nasty things may go to hide. You, however, are just a short excuse for window-dressing.”

Siri scowled, raised one finger to protest, and then gave up with a sigh. Fair was fair, after all. “I’d make fab window-dressing, thank you very much,” she said, and this time both Owari and Gyre laughed.

They introduced her to the Ho’Din Bo twins, Breegin and Greegor, Knights who hailed from the Dantooine Temple. They reminded Siri of a boisterous pair of circus performers, at least until they pulled out their multitude of thin throwing knives and proceeded to stick them in the wall with casual tosses.

Siri looked at the resulting perfect outline of a pinned body and whistled. “I didn’t know they taught that on Dantooine.”

Breegin grinned, showing all his flat white teeth. “Learned from the Mando’ade, before the Reformation.”

“Good folk,” Greegor added, and noisily slurped his tea. “Raw deal.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Siri said, glad she had studied enough of Mandalore’s history to know what they were talking about.

The most surprising person in attendance was Master Micah’s first Padawan, Master Brek Fa’an, sitting with Dravaco and Herssella. “Wow,” Siri whispered. “I haven’t seen her since Master Tyvokka’s funeral.”

Owari nodded, taking her own moment to observe the pale green Falleen woman. “I had heard that she was leaving her post with Judicial, but not what she was doing with her time afterwards.”

“Oh, gods, those bunks are going to kill me,” Fieff said, sitting down at their table with a dramatic groan. “I will give my cloak for caff.”

“You walked right by the dispenser, genius human,” Gyre said, entirely unsympathetic.

“Machine make workings no thinky,” Fieff replied, and put his head down on the tabletop.

Greegor regarded Fieff with half-closed eyes. “Is he being serious, or foolish?”

“We could pour caff over his head and find out,” Breegin said.

“Caff absorbs through the skin, right?” Fieff didn’t sound offended. “Make with the drinky miracle, please.”

Fieff was saved from a caff bath by Vos, who came bearing two steaming mugs. He put one down next to Fieff’s elbow. “He’s fuckin’ useless before caff in the mornings,” Vos said, sitting down next to Siri. “If there’s an emergency, watch him go, but otherwise you’re better served by setting him on fire.”

Fieff propped himself up just enough to bury his face in the mug. “You are a saint among men, Quinlan Vos,” he said after draining half the caff. “How long is it until this morning’s no-doubt wondrous lecture on Sithly habits?”

“About five minutes,” Vos answered. “Don’t stay up so late next time. I’m not collecting your ass tomorrow.”

“I couldn’t help it. I was pining for the glory of a woman’s touch,” Fieff said sadly.

Siri made a face. “You’re sitting in a room full of Shadows. Do you honestly think we’re all going to be suckered by your façade of ‘woe is me’ ineptitude?”

Fieff grinned, an unexpectedly sharp expression that highlighted the sudden intelligence in his eyes. “One never knows when it’s best to be taken for a fool, Knight-Elect Tachi.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t trust any of you,” Siri returned dryly. The Bo twins snickered, and Vos smiled quiet approval.

The Shadows all walked to the lecture hall more or less as one organic body, moving in the way that Jedi sometimes did when they were all together, all focused on the same goal. Siri caught a glimpse of Master Ni-Dia Kurri, walking with a Twi’lek male. The Cerean woman’s eye patch was embroidered with the glyph-set for second sight.

Inside the hall were thirty seats, the perfect number to accommodate the group. Siri stood and milled around with the others, talking and observing. There was no sign of any lecturer present. It felt oddly like Temple classes all over again, waiting for some harried or waylaid Master to come and boss them all into sitting down to study.

“Hey, look at that,” Grierseer said, pointing at the clear board. A simple instruction had appeared in red marker: _Sit down._

Siri felt another moment’s discomfort when she recognized Obi-Wan’s handwriting. When there was still no sign of their teacher, Dravaco shrugged. “Perhaps we should do as instructed,” he said, which got everyone moving, choosing seats without concern for rank.

The moment her hands touched the surface of her desk, Siri knew they had all utterly fucked up. Deciding she did _not_ want to spend the foreseeable future hunched over in a hard-bottomed chair, Siri practically flung herself out of the seat to lie on the floor. Her classmates were making varying noises of dismay as the Shillanis took hold.

The warning chill swept up Siri’s arms, followed quickly by her fingertips and hands going numb. She turned her head to see that Vos had mimicked her decision to abandon the chair, and was lying with a chagrined expression frozen on his face.  A few seconds later, Siri couldn’t move at all.

Well, at least she wasn’t the only one feeling like ten shades of idiot.

They had been lying in place for about a minute before Siri could hear the steps of at least three different individuals enter the room. Her eyes wouldn’t obey her—expected, yet still annoying—but she thought she recognized Abella’s furry feet wandering past. It was the Healers, probably making sure that nobody was going to have a bad reaction to the Shillanis.

Su’um-Va leaned over her. Siri was glad that there was no trace of mockery on his face. _Are you comfortable, dearheart?_ he asked. He was wearing gloves, the cheat.

If Siri was as smart as she liked to claim, she would have been wearing her own damned gloves. _Stellar_ , she projected, knowing he would hear. _Get me a mattress._

Su’um-Va only smiled and moved on to the next fallen Shadow. Siri decided she was going to figure out how to rewind time and deprive him of that handjob.

When the shuffle of boots and bare feet had quieted, Siri was startled by the temperature in the room dropping by at least fifteen degrees, all at once. She had a moment of wondering if Obi-Wan was going to make it snow on them, too, when she heard the sound of someone settling into place at the front of the room.

“I am _extremely_ disappointed,” Obi-Wan said, in the coldest voice Siri had ever heard her friend use. “You are, most of you, experienced Shadows. You have all been briefed on the recent Temple incursion. You knew what you were coming here to study. If this is the caliber of Jedi that the Order has to send against Darth Sidious, then we may as well give up now.”

Siri frowned to herself, even if her face wouldn’t reflect the expression. _Just because we’ve been caught once doesn’t mean we’re failures._

“Oh, no?” He paused, which gave Siri the impression that she wasn’t the only one complaining. “Do you think Sidious will forgive one failure? Do you think he will resist the opportunity to destroy you as you lie helpless at his feet?”

Put like that, Siri felt even more like a hapless moron. Also, she hoped they turned up the heat soon. She was dressed for the Cathedral, not Entrios’s snow.

Then Obi-Wan unshielded, and Siri would have swallowed her tongue in shock if she could have moved. There was pure, unadulterated _rage_ beating against her shields—it was like being dipped in freezing acid.

 _Vos, you asshole,_ Siri thought, horrified. _You should have warned me,_ and then, _holy fuck, what_ happened, _Obi-Wan?_

“You have just lost to a Sith,” Obi-Wan said in a soft, lethal voice. “If this were a real test of your skill, your lives would be forfeit.

“This first failure will not count against you, but the next one will. There is only one other method of succumbing to Shillanis; if you are caught by it one time, you will be forgiven, and expected to learn the lesson. If you do not? Expect your swift reassignment.

“Do not forget what this opportunity represents. Your time here will be treated with the _seriousness_ that it deserves, or you will be sent back to Coruscant, where you can explain your return to the Master of Shadows herself.”

 _Ouch._ Siri did not want to have to explain to Boda MonMassa why she’d screwed up so badly as to be sent packing back to Coruscant.  Her sight of Vos blurred when her eyes began to water in earnest.  _Gloves.  Also, ration bars.  I hope I can find enough._

 _Shit._   Obi-Wan was a sneaky old man.  _I hope I can find ration bars that haven’t already been tampered with._

“You can all sense what you are dealing with,” Obi-Wan said.

 _Venge,_ Siri thought in sudden realization. This was not her favorite old man, or her skinny-butt friend. This was a Sith Lord, and Siri was helpless. Just because she could still use the Force didn’t mean she could compete with someone of Venge’s strength.

“Make no mistake; I am here to ensure that you will learn how to hunt for Sidious without dying in the process. You may feel pain, fear, anger, weakness—all of these things are meant to help you, not to hinder you. You should walk out of the Cathedral when this is complete as a stronger Jedi, a more effective Shadow. If you slip along the way, there are those of us that will help you to righten yourself again.

“Slip enough to wish death to your brethren, and I will kill you myself.”

Siri felt even more chilled than before. She knew a promise when she heard one.

Vos sat up, blinking and shaking his head as if throwing off Shillanis’s hold. Siri would have gaped at him if it were possible. _Holy shit, Quinlan!_ she shouted.

“Interesting,” Venge said. “Come with me, Vos.”

“Yeah.” Vos hissed out a breath, standing as if his muscles had already stiffened up from lying on the floor. “Thought you’d say that.”

Siri watched until Vos’s boots disappeared. With Vos out of the way, she could see that poor Owari had landed on the floor in an unplanned heap, probably straightened out just enough by the roaming Healers to keep her from distress. Her copper eyes were huge and frightened.

Siri felt a moment’s contempt. _If he was going to kill us, he’d have done it when we hit the floor,_ she thought, and then chided herself for being uncharitable. She had the Sharing as a buffer for this; the others did not.

Besides, Venge was fucking scary, and Siri couldn’t even _see_ him.

“This is your first and only lesson in why you should take care in what you touch,” Venge said in a deceptively casual voice. “Shillanis lasts approximately six to eight hours, depending on your individual physiology. Enjoy your leisure time.”

 _Fuck_ , Siri thought in grim resignation, after hearing two sets of boots leave the hall. The chill faded not long after. At least someone had finally turned the heat on.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Quinlan followed Venge back to the Posh Line, but was not much surprised that the room they went into was not the Sith’s own quarters. It was set up like an office, complete with a tea pot that emitted fragrant steam. If Quinlan was guessing the scent right, it was one of the Healers’ blends.

Quinlan’s mouth suddenly watered. His head still felt thick and woolen, and his hands were cramping. “May I?” he asked, trying to recall the manners that Tholme had drilled into his head.

“Go ahead,” Venge said, taking a seat.

Quinlan busied himself with pouring tea—the third mug in the stack of used ones looked mostly clean, and the impressions on it were faint enough that they were easy to ignore. He didn’t sit down until he’d drained the first cup and made another.

“Shit, that stuff is foul,” Quinlan said at last, and he didn’t mean the tea.

Venge nodded once. He had been studying Quinlan the entire time. Those heavy shields penned up the rage and everything else, too, so Quinlan didn’t have the slightest idea what the Sith was thinking.

 _Jedi_ , Quinlan reminded himself sharply. _He’s still allied with us, no matter what Fire has done. You keep thinking Sith too often, and you’re going to slip and do something stupid. Again._

Venge waited until Quinlan had finished the tea. “Better?” he asked.

Quinlan raised his right hand, fingers splayed out, and was grateful when it didn’t shake. “Yeah, I’m good now,” he said, dropping his hand. “Care to tell me why we’re here?”

“I am certain you noticed that, during the Sharing, he—I edited out a lot of the war,” Venge said.

Quinlan nodded, choosing to ignore the verbal slip. If Quinlan was having trouble keeping Obi-Wan’s identity straight, Force knew how Obi-Wan himself was doing. “We noticed there were some gaps, but I didn’t know it was intentional.”

Venge’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “I was…trying to be circumspect with certain moments. I succeeded at times, and failed utterly at others, especially as the Sharing progressed. One of the things I edited out was to your benefit.”

“Mine?” Quinlan frowned. “Was it part of that cryptic bit about me fighting my own demons during the war?”

“That is one way of putting it,” Venge said. “You were a Shadow, and as such, you were tasked with pretending to befriend the enemy. You went to Dooku with a tale of broken faith in the Jedi Order, and volunteered to serve under him.”

“Yeah, that sounds stupid enough for me to have done,” Quinlan said, grinning.

“You Fell.”

The grin froze on his face. “What?” Quinlan regained control of himself. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I am telling you that in the course of pursuing your mission, you allowed yourself to come under Lord Tyrannus’s sway,” Venge said, pinning Quinlan with his amber gaze. “Within a very short span of time, you had succumbed to the Dark side.”

“Oh.” Quinlan swallowed. “But I didn’t feel—you _can_ burn through Shillanis without Falling. You’ve done it, yourself.”

“You can, though in my case, the question is rather academic,” Venge said, his tone dry as dust.

“But that’s not why you edited me out,” Quinlan guessed. He should have been surprised, but it fit in too well with the first years of his Knighthood. There had been a lot of talk about how Quinlan was considered unready. He’d been just nineteen Standard, young for a humanoid to have passed his Trials. Tholme had never doubted him, but Depa, Master Piell, and Master Windu, on the other hand, had been unashamedly vocal in their concerns.

Quinlan finally gained enough confidence to call Mace a hypocrite—the Haruun Kal had been Knighted at seventeen, and no one had bitched about him. Mace shut up, after that, and started teaching him the _vapaad_ instead. Quinlan took it as a compliment.

“I did my best to protect you from the consequences of someone else’s actions, but if you choose this path…” Venge seemed to shrug. “The doubts of others will follow you once more.”

“You think I’ll Fall anyway?” Quinlan asked. It was an honest concern; he knew his temper wasn’t the best, and he tended to hide his anger underneath a flagrant devil-may-care attitude. Those who knew him best weren’t fooled, but they were all Jedi who understood that play-acting could be just as much a coping method as meditation.

“I do not know,” Venge said. “The circumstances are decidedly different, are they not?”

That wasn’t the most reassuring answer Quinlan had ever heard. “If I joined Dooku and his friendly bunch of Dark Acolytes, why was I still alive when the war ended? I know our Code inside and out, same as you. Just because Mace didn’t kill you after your little jaunt into crazy-land—”

“You assume he let me live because we were the only ones left?” Venge smiled. “You know him better than that, Vos.”

“Point,” Quinlan conceded. “Why, then?”

“I encountered you behind enemy lines,” Venge said, his gaze unfocused. “Your orders were to kill me, and you did not. Instead, despite the Darkness that you were infected with, you helped me to escape. You returned to Coruscant not long afterwards.”

“And likely got my ass kicked,” Quinlan inferred.

“No.” Venge shook his head. “You did not want to pursue the Darkness you had found. The Reconciliation Council put you on leave; you returned to the front lines within a month.”

“That doesn’t sound like near enough time to recover from almost losing my shit,” Quinlan said with a grimace.

“No. It was not.” Venge focused his attention back on Quinlan. “You struggled for the rest of the war, but to your credit, you never succumbed.”

“Then why did the Council dump me back out there?” Quinlan asked, but he suspected he knew.

“Our numbers were already too few. Everyone who was willing to fight on behalf of the Republic was welcomed, regardless of temperament. If such desperation had not existed, men like Wilhuff Tarkin would never have risen to prominence.”

Quinlan remembered Moff Tarkin. Learning of him via memory-viewing or not, it was hard to forget someone who had no qualms about being so unequivocally evil. “Right. Strange bedfellows, and all that.”

Venge frowned. “It is not just about strange bedfellows. There are things that the Order has forgotten, Vos. Chief among them is this: Falling is not permanent. To be like Sidious, it is a choice you must make, over and over again. Using the Dark side of the Force does not make you evil. What it does is open a door to the possibility that you may _become_ evil. It is hard to look at that part of yourself, to see that you have as much potential for wrongdoing as you do for good.”

 _Once you start down the Dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny_ , Quinlan thought. Yoda was not a Shadow, but he had no compunctions about warning other Shadows of the dangers of their work. “That’s why everyone is so adamant about not even touching the Dark side in the first place,” Quinlan said. “If you never face that temptation, you never have to worry about it.”

Venge threw back his head and laughed. Quinlan jerked in place, startled by the unexpected reaction. There was no happiness in the sound, just derisive amusement.

“Let me tell you a secret, Vos.” Venge’s smile was cutting. “That philosophy is very, very _young._ ”

It didn’t take Quinlan long to puzzle out his meaning. “The Ruusan Reformation,” he said. It had been the topic on everyone’s mind before the Battle of Theed.

Venge inclined his head, acknowledging the correct answer. “The Reformation put into place many of the rules that govern the Order today. One of those rules states that Knights become Masters once they have successfully trained a student to Knighthood. This is an irresponsible measure of worthiness, to say the least.”

“Because we stopped looking into ourselves. We stopped focusing on that _understanding_ ,” Quinlan realized. “Before the Reformation, no Jedi could be named a Master unless they’d completed that self-discovery bit.”

“Exactly,” Venge said. “Only when that self-awareness was acknowledged was it considered proper to take on students.” He shifted in place, a pained expression etching his features. Quinlan leaned back when the rage unfurled; it was like being struck full in the face by an oncoming wall of forge-bright heat.

“Sorry,” Venge said, his shields reforming after a moment. “I need to go and do… _something_ ,” he finished, looking frustrated.

“Would sparring help?” Quinlan asked. Venge was a scary fuck, yes, but Quinlan was smart enough to remember that this was also his friend, a man who had just given Vos a lecture worthy of any teaching Master. “The others aren’t going to be budging for a while.”

“I do not know,” Venge admitted, brow furrowing. “Stepping into an arena with a lightsaber in my hand does not feel like the best idea at the moment.”

“Oh. Okay,” Quinlan said, shrugging. “Guess it’s best to just give up, then.”

Venge narrowed his eyes. “Oh, well played,” he murmured.

Quinlan grinned. “If I couldn’t play the game, I’d be dead already.”

They went to the large open area—the cathedral of the Cathedral. Venge and Quinlan bowed, just as they would at the beginning of a proper in-Temple spar, and then flew at each other, lightsabers high.

Venge wiped the floor with him. Quinlan didn’t mind.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“I feel like an _idiot_ ,” Gyre moaned, resting his head on the tabletop.

“It is all right,” Herssella said, giving him a short pat on the back with her talon-tipped hand. “We feel like idiots, too.”

Siri smiled at the Rishii, who was taking their Shillanis-dosing in stride. Owari was not; the Mrlssi had retreated to her quarters instead of joining them in the commissary. Siri hoped Owari could get it together. Losing people on the first day would just be ridiculous.

Brek Fa’an joined them, putting a small pile of ration bars on the table. “They’re not tampered with, I checked,” she said, noticing the wary look on Siri’s face.

“Oh, good,” Siri said in relief. “Thanks, Master Brek. I am _starved_.”

“We are all Shadows here,” Fa’an returned, as Siri tore off the wrapper and shoved half the bar into her mouth. “My rank isn’t necessary. Can you eat these, Herssella?”

Herssella picked up a bar, turning it over in her hands. “It is tolerable. Why are we not partaking of the commissary meal provided?”

At the next table over, Firrido made a choked-off _gurk_ noise and slumped in place, his features frozen in wide-eyed surprise.

“That’s why,” Fa’an said.

Gyre pushed his loaded tray away from his elbow without looking up. “Then I’m grateful I was too embarrassed to begin eating.”

Fa’an looked amused. “I’m assuming that one of you wiped the tabletop, as Tachi is not wearing gloves.”

“That was me,” Siri admitted. “Shillanis can be cleaned up, at least.” The gloves she had packed had also gone mysteriously missing. She was plotting to raid the medical suite for surgical gloves, and would be on the lookout for glove alternatives for Herssella and Owari.

“The second method of contacting Shillanis is by eating it. Of course.” Herssella shook her head. “Now I understand why our briefing said that we were to consider ourselves on duty.”

“Mission-live,” Siri added, when she’d swallowed the last of the ration bar. “It’s much less school and more like we’re in a field simulation. Don’t feel bad, Gyre. I knew what Shillanis was and got caught by it, same as you.”

“None of us took our briefings as seriously as we should have,” Fa’an agreed, peeling her ration bar open with her extra-long fingers. “Is there a way to determine Shillanis’s presence, Tachi?” she asked.

Siri turned her head to look a few tables distant. Fieff gave his caff mug a betrayed look as he fell off his chair. “Shillanis can only be detected with the Dark side of the Force.”

“And we’re not going to be learning that little trick any time soon,” Vos said, joining them with a pair of ration bars in his hand. “I’ve got a line on some travel-sized brewing pots, if anyone wants to have their caff and tea without getting Shillanis-dosed.”

“I’m grateful,” Fa’an said, giving him a searching look. “You were the only one of us to overcome Shillanis this morning.”

“Yeah, you showoff,” Siri said, kicking Vos in the shin under the table. “How did you figure that out already?”

Vos shrugged. “I’ve trained in _vapaad_ , Tachi. Some of the understanding comes from that. As for the specific method, Fa’an? Only the core group is learning that, per MonMassa’s orders.”

“Then I hope I’m part of that group,” Fa’an said in complete seriousness. “I want to learn how to overcome such a vile trap. Then again, I also hope that there will still be a teacher to learn from.”

Gyre lifted his head off of the table as they all gave Fa’an their undivided attention. “What’s going on, Brek?” Vos asked.

Fa’an lowered her voice. “I have overheard the others talk of our instructor’s…difficulty,” she said. “Some are saying that we must honor the Code.”

Vos rolled his eyes. “Fucking idiots.”

Siri shook her head. “And the fact that he was named our instructor by MonMassa means nothing, right?”

Fa’an raised an amused eyebrow. “MonMassa is testing our loyalty, obviously. If we defeat the Dark Jedi, then we will be better prepared to face Sidious.”

Gyre rubbed his chin as he selected his own ration bar. “Should we do something? Warn someone, perhaps?”

“I think we should place bets,” Vos said.

 

*          *          *          *

 

When she awoke the next day, Siri’s datapad was already lit up with that morning’s instruction. Everyone in the Cathedral was to meet in the cavernous room that fronted the facility.

“Oh, yeah, he knows,” Siri muttered, setting aside her tunics for snug practice gear. She didn’t know if she was going to be fighting, but better to be prepared than let a loose sleeve betray her.

She met Vos out in the corridor, accompanied by Master Ni-Dia Kurri. Vos was wearing leather trousers and a tight-fitting shirt that revealed his fab build. Siri had considered a friendly pursuit, once, but he was off-limits thanks to his serious, monogamous fling with Jude Rozess.

“Morning, Vos, Master Kurri,” Siri greeted them, with an abbreviated bow for the Cerean Master. The woman paused, leaning on her staff as she examined Siri with a curious eye.

“Good morning,” Master Ni-Dia replied. “Vos tells me that we are placing bets on this morning’s outcome. Have you already placed your wager, Tachi?”

“Sure have,” Siri said, a wide smile spreading across her face. “And you, Master? Are you betting, or joining in?”

Kurri seemed amused. “I am more than capable of discerning the reasons behind Kenobi’s appointment. If the others need to have their arses handed to them to learn the wisdom of MonMassa’s choice? On their heads be it.”

Siri grinned. “Oh, I _like_ you. Let’s go get good seats.”

“You’re right,” Kurri said to Vos. “A bit bloodthirsty, isn’t she?”

Vos nodded. “It’s part of her charm,” he said, ignoring the dirty look that Siri gave him.

The three of them had already claimed one of the defunct shipping crates as the other Shadows began to filter into the cathedral space. Gyre, Uru, and the Bo twins were quick to claim places on the other shipping container, with Greegor and Breegin playfully elbow-jostling each other for prime crate real estate.

“We’re already down to twenty-nine?” Siri asked, counting the group twice over.

“Knight Thrai was discovered to be three weeks pregnant by the Healers during yesterday’s examinations,” Kurri said in an undertone. “The news was unexpected, but not unwelcome. She chose to return to the Temple to ask for lighter duties until her child is born.”

The very thought of Sidious getting his hands on a pregnant Jedi, Shadow or not, was enough to give Siri chills. “I wish her the very best at spawning,” she said, to cover her own unease.

“It was not the way I expected to become a grand-Master to a youngling,” Kurri said in a wry voice.

“Thrai was your student?” Vos asked, his attention shifting back to them.

Kurri nodded. “My second only. Given that her sister Padawan returned to the Force soon after her Knighting, I find that I am…I am relieved that Thrai will not be hunting for Sidious.”

Siri found herself weighted down by sudden, crushing guilt. “Shit. I am a thoughtless twit,” she said. “I just realized how freaked out Master Adi must be, that I’m doing this.”

“Maybe a little,” Vos conceded, but then he gave her a reassuring smile. “She’s also proud of you, too. Take it from another Master.”

“Hush now, both of you,” Kurri said, waving her hand to silence them. “Our host is coming in from the cold.”

Siri looked; Obi-Wan ( _Venge, you idiot,_ she reminded herself) was emerging from the smaller hatch that led through the cliff wall. His hood was already down, revealing hair that was showing frozen tips. Snow liberally coated his brown robe, but otherwise he looked…well, he looked normal, if you ignored the fact that his eyes were yellow and _glowing_. He was still dressed in his standard brown and beige, not the more Sithly black.

No lightsaber, though, Siri noted, aware that several Shadows had separated from the small, milling crowd and were presenting themselves as a united body against Venge’s progress. The lack of lightsaber was both reassuring and alarming, considering what was about to happen.

Venge halted about two meters away from Dravaco, who was standing at the head of the group. With Dravaco were Grierseer, Fieff, Firrido, and the Twi’lek Knight who had been chatting with Kurri the day before.

“That’s Knight Burrinne’furro. Burrin Nefurro,” Vos said in a low voice.

“He’s an idiot,” Kurri added, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“Knight Kenobi,” Dravaco said, none of his confidence faltering in light of Venge’s unblinking, disinterested stare. “Regardless of your position on the Council, or your appointment over this facility, our course is clear. In accordance to the Code, you will submit your life to us, so that your soul may be returned to the Force to cleanse it of Darkness.”

Venge’s eyes flickered over each Shadow in turn. Grierseer faltered, but did not turn away, while Fieff just looked grimly determined, as did Dravaco and Nefurro. Siri thought that Firrido, meanwhile, was regretting his decision.

“Only five of you,” Venge said. “That is not near as many as I thought there would be.”

“It will only take five of us,” Dravaco said. “The others will not be necessary.”

 _Liar_ , Siri thought. _There are only five of you because that’s all you could manage to convince._ The rest of the Shadows, the ones who didn’t know Obi-Wan, were reserving judgment until Venge gave them a reason to act. It made Siri all the more proud to think that she was going to become one, because good sense seemed to be in damn short supply.

“Vos,” Venge said, glancing at Quinlan. “Two minutes at fifty, with five second allowances at ten per.”

Vos grinned. “Noted.”

“Master Kurri.” Venge looked at the Cerean Master. “May I borrow your staff?”

Kurri nodded. “You may.” She lifted it up, hefted it in her hand, and then tossed it at him like a spear. “I’d like it back in one piece, if you please.”

Venge grabbed the staff from the air, swinging it in a wide arc. Then he struck the end of the staff against the cathedral floor with a strangely metallic, muted _clang._

“Ironwood,” Vos murmured.

“Last chance,” Venge said, stepping into a battle-ready stance while leaving the staff in place. “Are you certain that you wish to do this?”

“My ally is the Force,” Dravaco intoned, solemn-faced, and then he leapt at Venge, igniting his lightsaber in the same moment. Fieff, Nefurro, and Grierseer were just behind him, with Firrido as hesitant backup.

If it wasn’t for the Force, Siri wouldn’t have been able to track the fight at all. As it was, there were still details she missed, because Venge was _fast._

Venge waited for them to come within range before he moved. The staff sang through the air, taking out not Dravaco, but Firrido. There was a blur; the Rodian went flying with an indignant squeak. While Siri was tracking Firrido’s flight, Nefurro went down and didn’t move.

Siri jerked her attention back to Venge, watching in awe as he caught three lightsabers—blue, green, and orange—on Kurri’s ironwood staff. The staff didn’t even char from the intense heat.

“I didn’t think ironwood could do that,” Siri whispered.

“He’s augmenting it with the Force,” Kurri explained, though her eye was still riveted on the fight. “I’ve only ever before seen Master Yoda do so.”

Venge narrowed his eyes, dropping back into defense to free himself from the trio of lightsabers. Dravaco and Grierseer pursued, chasing Venge towards the front wall of the cathedral. Venge didn’t slow down as he approached. He ran up the wall until gravity started to tug him back down. He whirled around as he fell, and then he _disappeared._

“Great bleeding fuck,” Vos said, sounding as awed as Siri felt. “He is going to teach me that, or I’m staging my own revolt.”

Venge reappeared right between Grierseer and Dravaco, the staff a loud whir as he swatted Dravaco across the back, knocking him over. He swept Grierseer’s legs out from beneath her, adding a Force-push that sent the Zeltron rolling backward.

“Watch it!” Uru yelled, as Skaalka went charging into the fray. Venge turned and parried Skaalka’s yellow lightsaber with his staff.

“I fight, too!” the Trandoshan Master said with a delighted grin. “Is fun!”

The two of them exchanged a furious series of blows, while Fieff tried to rejoin the melee. When that failed, he settled for a Force-directed throw of his lightsaber, aiming for Venge’s unprotected back. Venge turned in place, snatching Fieff’s lightsaber from the air and attaching it to his belt, all while avoiding Skaalka’s joyous attempts at flattening him.

“Hey!” Fieff shouted, indignant at his lightsaber’s theft.

“Assumed Kenobi would be too distracted by Skaalka to defend himself,” Kurri noted.

“Dumb,” said Siri. “Obi-Wan could do that even before he was Knighted.”

“Could he?” Kurri sounded delighted.

“Oh, yeah,” Siri confirmed, wincing as Dravaco miscalculated a strike and almost took Skaalka’s arm off with his lightsaber. It was Venge who saved her, shoving the Trandoshan out of the way and then _pounding_ at Dravaco with the ironwood staff until Dravaco missed a parry and took a blow to the face.

“Annnd he’s down,” Vos muttered, watching Dravaco crumple to the ground, shakily pressing a hand to his bleeding temple. Grierseer abandoned the fight to go tend to him. Nefurro was still unconscious, and Firrido had left the battle after his first toss.

“Time?” Venge asked, when Skaalka gave him a polite bow to signal her resignation from the match.

“One minute, fifty-eight seconds,” Vos said. “You’re down to forty credits.”

Venge nodded, turning his attention back to Dravaco. Grierseer glared up at him, but didn’t interfere when Venge placed the butt of the ironwood staff on Dravaco’s chest.

“Master Skaalka mentioned something about the fight not being complete until you yield,” Venge said.

Dravaco had recovered enough of his senses to snarl up at Venge. “Why should I yield? You’re just going to kill me!”

“Do not be _stupid_ ,” Venge retorted, oozing scorn. “What point would that serve?”

“Uhm…I’ll yield,” Fieff said, holding up his hand with one finger raised. “Can I have my lightsaber back?”

Venge smiled. “You mean the one that you so foolishly discarded?”

Fieff flushed bright red, overriding every single one of his freckles. “Er—yes?”

“No,” Venge said, and Skaalka started laughing. “You will build another, or do without.”

“Oh.” Fieff was even more discouraged. “Any lightsaber crystals around here?”

Venge shook his head, though Siri noticed he was pressing down a bit harder on the staff. “You will have to make your own.”

Fieff sputtered in outraged disbelief. “I don’t know how to do that!”

“Pity,” said Venge, and looked back down at Dravaco. “Yield, or go home.”

“You’re—you’re not what I expected.” Grierseer was shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

Venge raised an eyebrow. “That is obvious.”

Dravaco glanced at Grierseer, and then up at Venge. “I’ll yield, _if_ you explain all this.”

“That was the general idea,” Venge said, and held out his hand.

Dravaco eyed Venge’s fingers warily, as if expecting another trap. Then, grudgingly, he accepted the hand-up, though Siri noticed that Dravaco’s eyes went wide the moment their palms met.

“Dammit, man, what the hell is that?” Dravaco demanded, staring at Venge as he helped Grierseer get to her feet.

Venge tilted his head, eying the Shadows as the group at large started to slowly converge upon the duelists. “That is the downside to the poison I am suffering from.”

 _Poison_ , Siri thought, disturbed, and hopped down from the crate with the others to join her fellow Shadows. It sounded like she was going to get answers to at least one of her questions, and maybe a few more that she had yet to think of.

“Someone awaken Nefurro,” Venge said, eying the fallen Twi’lek.

“I’ll do it,” Fa’an said, and went to rouse Nefurro. The Twi’lek sat up, blinked several times, and looked utterly confused about Venge’s continued existence.

“You entered into a battle against someone you viewed as a supreme threat to the Order with _no_ shielding whatsoever,” Venge snarled at Nefurro, who shrank back in alarm from Venge’s sudden, intense anger.

“You did _what?_ ” Kurri roared at Nefurro. “You complete fool!”

“When I dismiss the group, you will report immediately to the Healers for a full evaluation. They will be especially mindful of your possible suicidal inclinations,” Venge told Nefurro in a tone of extreme displeasure. Nefurro opened his mouth to protest, shut it, and then gave a slight nod of agreement.

“You say you are poisoned. What did you touch?” Herssella asked, redirecting everyone’s focus back to the matter at hand.

“Nothing,” Venge said. “Mine was a harsh lesson in not making foolish assumptions. You all have heard about Jenna Zan Arbor’s escape from the Trillust penal colony, yes?” There were several nods and murmurs of assent. “She was recently recaptured, but before that time, Darth Sidious contracted her to recreate as many of the ancient, extinct Sith toxins as she could possibly manage. She dosed me with one of her successes, once known as A Drop of Fire. It is designed to be impossible to filter, or even detect, once it is injected into the body.”

“That sounds unpleasant, all by itself,” Greegor said.

“What does it do?” Breegin asked.

“Fire overwhelms the limbic system, or the species equivalent. It is not humanoid-limited. It pushes the brain’s emotional centers to produce rage, a process that never stops. A victim’s eventual fate is insanity, unless you circumvent it—in which case, you wind up with something rather like me.”

“Seriously fuckin’ pissed off Jedi,” said a grizzled human male that Siri didn’t recognize.

“A succinct explanation, yes,” Venge replied. “It could actually have been worse. Zan Arbor did not manage to recreate Nightmare. That one overwhelmed the brain’s fear response, and was incurable. Its victims literally died of fright in short order.”

“Shit,” Fieff said in a soft whisper.

“Heard of none of these,” Skaalka rumbled. “Feel ignorant.”

“We don’t actually know what we’re getting into, do we?” Grierseer asked, in complete and utter seriousness. “You wiped the floor with the lot of us in two minutes—it would have been less than that if Skaalka hadn’t waded into the thick of it to play.”

Dravaco was grim. “How long would it have taken Sidious to do the same?”

“Sidious would not have done the same,” Venge said, startling a number of the Shadows. “I did not seek to seriously injure any of you. Sidious would have killed the five of you in about fifteen seconds.”

“Surely not that quickly,” Firrido started to protest.

“Ten seconds, if we are to be realistic.” It had the tone of a joke, but Venge didn’t look amused. “That is why you are all here. We are woefully unprepared for the threat that Sidious represents. Some of the blame for that lies with the Order, but our decline was also engineered by the line of Bane over the past thousand years.”

There was a great deal of shock generated by that announcement. Venge waited until everyone had calmed before he said, “I am Darkened; of that, there is no question, and you would be right to call me a liar if I tried to claim otherwise. But I am not like Sidious: I am not evil. That is a very important distinction, and it is one that you, as Shadows, _must_ learn to recognize.”

“Why?” Gyre asked. “Do you think we might wind up like you? Poisoned by Fire?”

“That is a distinct possibility,” Venge said, which only added to Siri’s unease. “Zan Arbor had already given a number of samples to Sidious, and Fire was not her only success.

“Listen well, now, for this is what you should expect of your time here,” Venge said. Every Shadow was now gazing at Venge with direct, intense focus that felt like a low-level hum in the Force.

“For the next ten-day, you will be interviewed individually, both by myself and our Healers on-site. You will be tested and prodded. The threat of Shillanis remains over your heads, and it is not the only trap you should worry about. This is done to discern which among you will actually be able to handle the sort of training I am going to give you. I warn you now that at least half of your number will be returning to the Temple.

“Also, you do not have to remain in the Cathedral. Now that you have been informed of what you may expect, you can choose to leave on tomorrow morning’s transport. _No one_ will shame you if you make such a decision,” Venge said in firm voice. “A Shadow’s life is not easy, and this is a path that will be harder still.”

Siri flinched when Venge’s adamantine shields faltered. The rage she could feel emanating from him was like a blazing furnace fire; it was the concentrated fury of the worst blizzard. Several of the Shadows were wincing, and those who were closest to Venge stepped back.

“And that is the trial of Fire,” Venge whispered. His grip on Master Kurri’s staff was white-knuckled. “It is not once that you must circumvent it, but over and over again, until it is extinguished.”

Fa’an was one of the Shadows who looked pained. “Congratulations. You were frightening before; now you’re terrifying.”

“This is a mere hint of what facing Sidious will feel like,” Venge said in that same soft, lethal voice in which he had announced their defeat by Shillanis.

“That’s awful,” Kurri murmured, her eye squinched half-shut. “Is there nothing that can be done for you?”

“Fire must be allowed its times to burn,” Venge hissed, and Siri resisted the urge to step back as the amber glow of his eyes intensified. He raised Kurri’s staff and then slammed the end of it against the floor, closing his eyes and bowing his head. Siri could feel the vibration of the impact through the soles of her boots…a vibration that only intensified.

Vos shouted as the floor beneath him rippled. Siri reached out to help him catch his balance, only to shriek when the floor under her feet unexpectedly vanished. Vos wound up catching her, instead.

“Balls,” Siri gasped, clinging to Vos’s forearm, her boots dragging along the floor as he pulled her away from the chasm opening in the cathedral floor. The other Shadows quickly backed away, some leaping to safety as the growing hole ate the floor.

Venge was leaning heavily on the staff, white-faced, by the time the vibrations ceased. There was a five meter by six meter hole where part of the group had been standing, surrounded by Shadows who looked amazed, horrified, or in Dravaco’s case, completely entranced.

“And here is your next lesson,” Venge said, and Siri realized, too late, that he had completely suckered them.

“Aw, fuck,” Vos groaned, dropping his head forward in mortification. “Hello, Master.”

Siri turned her head, grimacing as she took in the lightsaber that Master Tholme had leveled at them both. “Shit,” she said, with a deep, internal cringe. This was actually worse than the Shillanis.

The rest of the Shadows were making their own sounds of embarrassment, taking in the lightsabers that had been raised, unnoticed, against their unprotected backs. Siri saw that all four Healers had participated in the ambush, as well as several other Masters who must have arrived on that morning’s transport.

“You cannot be so focused on what you see, on what you _feel_ , that you ignore the obvious dangers!” Venge shouted at them, rage etching his features. “Congratulations; you have now died twice in as many days,” he snarled, and stalked off. Siri watched him go, thinking dark things about rodents and snakes and maybe a few dozen maggots in his bed.

“Well, isn’t he snippy,” Fieff grumbled. He had his arms raised into the air; Siri suspected that Abella’s lightsaber was closer than necessary to Fieff’s ass.

“He sort of has a point,” Grierseer admitted. “I feel like a particularly foolish crecheling.”

Tholme disengaged his lightsaber, a motion that their ambushers copied. Quinlan turned around, plastering a smile on his face. “How’s Aayla?” he asked.

“Orphaned,” Tholme replied with a merciless grin. “It appears I shall have to take up where your corpse left off.”

“Yes, rub it in, I completely deserved that,” Quinlan muttered.

“We all did,” Kurri said, a thoughtful look on her face. “I have not been caught in so simple a trap for many years.”

“How you doin’, Shiny?” the grizzled man was asking Firrido.

Firrido’s silver eyes were huge. He blinked a few times, and then said, “Erun, I am trying to decide if I am ready to run screaming for the transport.”

“Good,” Tholme said, to Siri’s surprise. “Knowing yourself is of great importance in this venture. All of you should meditate on your feelings, now that you are doubly aware of what staying in the Cathedral might mean.”

Owari, who had been a silent, avian shadow since yesterday, found her voice. “Master Tholme, how is Master Fareesi?”

“Insane,” Tholme said flatly. “He has completely succumbed to the poison Zan Arbor recreated.”

There were concerned looks exchanged, but little to be said. Most of the Shadows, Siri included, had already voiced their sympathy or concern about Fareesi’s fate.

“Has MonMassa named a new Third in his place?” Herssella asked.

Tholme snorted. “Well, we thought it was going to be one of you idiots, but if you keep walking into obvious traps…”

“This one is too obvious,” Breegin said, meaning the new hole in the floor.

“The chasm is almost twenty meters deep,” Dravaco said, peering into the newly opened depths.

“No fall,” Skaalka said, nudging Dravaco extra hard and earning a glare from the other Master.

“Well, I can’t bloody _terraform_ , but I’m staying,” Gyre announced.

Dravaco had recovered his balance. “I will gladly learn anything that our instructor agrees to teach us.”

“Yes, and I,” Uru added. The Bo twins nodded their assent, a motion mimicked by at least half of the group. Owari didn’t nod, but she didn’t seem inclined to run, either.

There was a startled yelp; Siri glanced over to see that Ra’um-Ve had one of Neffuro’s lekku in a firm grasp. “I am given to understand that your ass belongs to me for the next several hours,” she said in a sweet voice.

Neffuro sighed, resigned. “Yes, Healer.”

“I am honestly not sure which I would prefer: stupid, or suicidal,” Tholme said, watching the Healer twins escort the Twi’lek Knight out of the room.

“Master Tholme,” Fa’an greeted him. “Are you joining us for our training in insanity?”

Tholme shook his head. “No. I’m just here to lend the occasional bit of assistance…and to placate a small group of dunderheads with more authority than brains.”

“Ah, Temple politics,” Kurri said.

Tholme nodded. “A prime reason why I have never wished for a seat on the Council.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

It was becoming a bit of a tradition that Qui-Gon’s comm would buzz at least once a night, signaling an incoming message. He had finally given in and requested one of the dual-comms that Tachi, Reeft, and Obi-Wan had been using for the past several years—not because he saw the purpose, but because without it, Venge would hack the Temple and direct his texted missives to wherever Qui-Gon happened to be.

Tonight’s message was blunt, but not unexpectedly so, given Venge’s reaction to the Shillanis dosing. [They are idiots. We are utterly fucked.]

Qui-Gon smiled and took his time composing a reply. The damned keypads were not meant for large hands. [Did you kill all the Shadows again, love?]

[We may as well gift-wrap the Temple and hand it over to Sidious.]

Definitely a fit of temper, or perhaps a bit of melancholy. It was hard to tell from text alone. [That is not logistically possible.] Qui-Gon sent.

[Oh, please. We live in the 53rd century. I am certain that someone, somewhere, would be able to manufacture paper large enough to coat the Temple towers.]

Venge was probably correct, but it did not bear thinking about. The current generation of pranksters among the Padawan set did not need new ideas. [You should rest.] Qui-Gon said instead. If Venge was considering Temple gift-wrap, it was possible he was long past exhausted and heading straight into loopy territory.

[I am very much aware of that] was the prompt response, followed by: [Master Tholme is here, and he does know how to render other beings unconscious without causing too much damage.]

Qui-Gon frowned. [You are not asking Tholme to hit you.]

[Half of them have already died three times. Stupid, not checking your water supply before bathing in it.] Venge sent back, a blatant change of subject. Qui-Gon let it go; there was no sense dwelling on the matter, anyway. His Lifemate was well aware of his own difficulties.

[Do they know it yet?] Qui-Gon asked.

[They will all know of it by tomorrow.]

Qui-Gon found himself smiling. There was a tone of mischief that had long been missing from their communication. [You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?]

[Perhaps.] Venge allowed. [Must prepare knives now. Comm you later.]

Qui-Gon raised both eyebrows at the words. “I do hope they’re good at ducking,” he murmured.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Ni-Dia Kurri was not surprised when she returned to her quarters to find the door lock tampered with. She considered the matter for a moment, and then drew forth her lightsaber, painting the corridor in pale green light.

She stepped to one side and activated the door. Three knives whizzed out of her room, planting themselves deeply in the far wall.

“Is that all, or must I prove myself by ejecting you?” Ni-Dia asked, directing her query to the invader inside.

“Micah informs me that you are an absolute terror to duel against, and I do look forward to doing so, but not yet,” Kenobi replied.

Ni-Dia smiled, but she rounded the doorway in slow increments, ready to defend herself against more flying projectiles. There were none, and in moments she could see the whole of her quarters. Kenobi was seated on her bunk, staring up at the ceiling and looking completely unconcerned by her presence.

“What if I tried to do as my fellow Shadows did, and attack you where you sit?” Ni-Dia asked, curious.

He glanced at her. The fierce glow of his eyes was much diminished, but they were still that strange, reptilian yellow. “Do you think you would succeed?”

Ni-Dia liked to believe she was a good Master, one who knew how to bend, but it was still a shock to realize how much it stung her pride when she said, “No. I don’t think I would.”

Kenobi turned his full attention to her, giving her a careful scrutiny from the top of her elongated skull to the tips of her well-cared-for boots. “I believe you may be one of the few who could learn to do so.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you did find these,” Kenobi said, holding out his hand. In his palm were the three devices she had wrested off of her water lines during her thorough exploration of her quarters.

“That is a standard behavior of mine,” Ni-Dia protested, baffled by such a simple proclamation. She paused, and took in the expression on his face. “Oh. Oh, my. How many did not think to check?”

“You will find out tomorrow,” Kenobi replied, amused. “Your staff is there.” He gestured to a corner with a turn of his head. Ni-Dia was glad to observe it standing in place, leaning against the wall. “Thank you for the use of your weapon,” he added. It was the formal tone of one Master to another, a bit of old ceremony.

“The honor was mine,” Ni-Dia said, giving the traditional reply.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Venge had not been downplaying the seriousness of the next week.

The Healer twins cleared Nefurro of suicidal inclinations, but he went home on the next morning’s transport per Venge’s order, seconded by Tholme and rabidly insisted upon by Kurri. Quinlan went to the commissary after seeing the transport off and stopped short in the doorway, stunned by the neon-dyed individuals populating the room.

“What the fuck!” Quinlan burst out, looking at Erun.

Erun grimaced, studying his hands. The older Knight’s skin was pure Lethan red. “Yeah, I know.”

“You think that’s bad?” Grierseer had a delighted grin on her face. “Watch this, Vos,” she said, and turned off the commissary lights. Not only could Quinlan see the neon dye, there were other Shadows who were _glowing in the dark_.

Quinlan noted the rest of the guilty parties: the Bo twins, who were taking their third poisoning in good cheer; Skaalka, who was using napkins to try and scrub green from her scales; Gyre, whose scalp tattoo was now shades of brilliant orange; and Owari, whose feathers fluoresced in the darkness. There were eight other Shadows showing evidence of not having done a proper inspection of their living quarters. Grierseer turned the lights back on, and the dyed Shadows hunched their shoulders and tried to avoid further notice.

He sat down next to Tachi, who had been dye-free. “You remembered?”

Tachi nodded. “I’ve been soloing since I was sixteen, Vos. If Venge had caught me that way, I would have volunteered to go home and let MonMassa rake me over the coals.”

“Yeah, me too,” Quinlan admitted. At least Tholme wouldn’t be able to hold a third stupid death over his head. The first two were embarrassing enough.

“Has everyone eaten?” Fa’an asked, joining them at a table. The tips of her fingers were a brilliant cobalt blue. She noticed Tachi and Quinlan’s disbelieving stare, and sighed. “Yes, I know. I only remembered to check after I’d touched the water. The Healers tell me I would have survived such a low dose of ‘poisoning,’ so I refuse to be morose about it.”

“I was just wondering why we continue to meet in a commissary full of food that we don’t dare eat,” Herssella said, hopping up to perch on the fourth chair. Quinlan noticed that she was wearing special leather wrappings on her hands and feet that allowed only her talons to touch surfaces, and nodded approvingly. He was thinking about going full-time with plastine-based gloves, no matter what happened with this training—his psychometry had never been more subdued.

“Socialization,” Tachi said to Herssella. “Plus, we get to see who’s still in the game.”

“Nefurro’s out,” Quinlan said. “I helped see him off this morning.”

“Down to twenty-eight, then.” Fa’an looked resigned. “Force, I had best not be caught so foolishly again. Micah would never let me hear the end of it.”

Erun was out the next day. It wasn’t the water failure that got him, but his response to his private interview with Venge. “Nope, can’t do it,” he confided to Vos and Tholme while waiting for his transport out. “I’ve been ridin’ closer to the edge than I ever guessed. Kenobi had me screaming and shouting in less than three minutes, and all he did was talk to me.”

“Re-evaluation?” Tholme asked, a surprising amount of sympathy in his voice.

“Yeah, standard,” Erun replied, hefting his pack. “And then maybe a sabbatical, so I can try and figure out what the hell it is that I’m so pissed off about.”

“May the Force be with you,” Tholme said, as he and Quinlan traded handshakes with Erun. “Let me know if you need anything, brother.”

“I’d ask you to find me a girlfriend, but you married a fuckin’ plant,” Erun said with a grin. “Gods know what you’d try to saddle me with.”

Quinlan found himself wiping down his quarters three times a day to avoid Shillanis, or whatever the hell was being dusted over his belongings. The water was tapped twice more, and he was tired enough on the third day after the cathedral duel that he almost missed it. He jumped out of the way of the water spray at the last second. That one was not dye, but acid that etched the shower stall tile.

They lost Zellin k’Ree to the same trick. Quinlan was hard-pressed not to cover his genitals protectively when Healer Zarin Har described in precise detail what kind of damage the acid had done.

“Oh, don’t look so petrified,” the Bothan chided him. “Several good coats of bacta, and he’ll be fine.”

“It must be nice, being a species whose pricks hide on the _insides_ of your bodies,” Quinlan shot back.

“It is rather convenient, actually,” Har replied with a grin. “Evolution did you humanoids no favors whatsoever.”

“I’ll say,” Quinlan muttered, thinking of the six damn times he’d been nailed in the crotch during missions.

“Can I ask you a question?” Har asked.

“Sure,” Quinlan said, “as long as you stop talking about acid burns.”

“Is Healer Abella mated? Or considering it with anyone?”

“Not that I know of—hey, whoa, no.” Quinlan held up his hands when Har’s face lit up. “You leave me out of that right now. I don’t want to know.” Plausible deniability was always wiser if courtships went foul.

Fieff showed up in the commissary for the traditional evening commiserations with his lightsaber attached to his belt. “Did he give it back to you?” Gyre asked, curious.

“Uh, no,” Fieff said, slumping down into his seat. He seemed much more subdued than was usual, which was odd, especially for Fieff.

“Well, then what?” Dravaco wanted to know.

“I—reacquired it,” Fieff said, in a tone that suggested he wouldn’t discuss it further. Dravaco scowled; Grierseer looked fascinated. Quinlan wondered if she was going to exit Dravaco’s bed and slide into Fieff’s.

Vaki Uru went home on the sixth day, a grim, quiet presence next to Tholme and Quinlan on the landing pad. Tachi joined them, this time. The Quarren spoke only to her, whispering something in her ear, and then boarded the transport.

“You’ve been seeing everyone off?” Tachi asked him, watching the transport rise into the sky.

Quinlan nodded. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

Venge attacked Quinlan in the central corridor on the seventh day, when almost everyone else had retired for the evening. He dropped down from the ceiling; Quinlan shouted in surprise and, without thinking, Force-tossed the man into a wall.

Venge landed on the floor on all fours, laughed at him, and then disappeared. Quinlan stood in place for almost five minutes, all of his senses on high alert, waiting for another attack.

“I know you’re still here,” Quinlan said at last.

“Good,” Venge said. Quinlan whirled, arm up, catching Venge’s wrist with his hand and keeping Venge’s knife from plunging down into his face.

Venge smirked at him. “Never assume,” he said, and used the Force to sweep Quinlan’s legs out from under him.

Quinlan landed with a hard jolt on his back that shoved the air out of his lungs. He drew in a pained breath and kicked back up to his feet…only to find the corridor empty again.

“Damn,” he said, leaning over with his hands on his knees. His back felt like one large bruise. “You’ve got to teach me how to do that.”

“Eventually,” Venge said. “But you need to ask yourself: Am I hiding from your sight, or altering what you can perceive?”

“No idea,” Quinlan huffed. He didn’t see Venge anywhere, but at least this time, he heard the sounds of booted feet walking away.

Firrido kel Ta announced his intention to depart the next morning, to Tachi, Gyre, and Owari’s dismay. “Are you sure?” Herssella asked him.

Firrido nodded. “I’ve been told by our instructor that I’m trying too much to be like my famous cousin, Master Orna. I meditated on this, and discussed it with our resident Mind Healers, and I believe he’s correct. I have followed the warrior’s path even when my heart wasn’t in it.”

“Where heart lie?” Skaalka wanted to know, frowning.

“I’m a slicer,” Firrido said. “Learning new ways to make code dance has always been where my spare time has gone. I’ll be presenting myself to MonMassa for reevaluation, and I hope she’ll keep me for what I am, instead of what I tried to be.”

With Firrido went six more Shadows, and try as he might, Quinlan never found out the circumstances behind their departure. If they had screwed up, they’d done it quietly enough. That left them with eighteen Shadows, and two days to go before the end of the ten-day.

 


End file.
